Stuart MacBride - A Song for the Dying

The guy with the grey suit and perm looks at Henry. Henry nods.

A caption appears on the bottom of the screen: ‘DR FRED DOCHERTY — FORENSIC PSYCHOLOGIST’.

Dr Docherty clears his throat. ‘Thank you.’ He’s obviously trying to sound posh, but those two words are carved in the sandstone of a Glaswegian tenement. ‘ We believe the person responsible for these crimes is in his late twenties, probably an unskilled worker who’s got difficulty holding down a job. He was very close to his mother, who’s probably died recently. His hatred of women stems from her smothering influence. He’ll be dishevelled in his appearance, and most likely has a history of mental illness, so we expect him to have been through police custody at some point in his life. ’

Which didn’t exactly narrow the pool. Not in Oldcastle.

The rest of the DVD was a bit of a let-down. The police can’t catch the Inside Man, blah, blah, blah. The Crown Office refuse to release the first four victims’ bodies, so the relatives have to have a symbolic burial and wait for the investigation to be finalized.

Poor sods were probably still waiting.

Dr Docherty reappears for a follow-up segment on Laura Strachan. He’s fidgeting in a big leather armchair, eyes flicking to a spot just left of the camera, as if he’s looking for approval from whoever’s standing there. His Glaswegian burr is slightly less pronounced than it was at the press conference. He’s obviously been practising. ‘ Of course, it was an intensely traumatic experience for Laura. We have weekly sessions exploring her feelings and helping her come to terms with what happened. It’s a long path to wellness, but she’s getting better. ’

An off-camera voice: ‘ And do you think she’ll ever be normal again? ’

Dr Fred Docherty goes still in his seat. ‘ Normal is a relative concept that has no value in psychology. We’re all individuals — there’s no such thing as “normal”. What we’re trying to do here is help Laura get back to a state that’s normal for her.’

‘ And what about Marie Jordan? ’

His fingers pick at the seam of his trousers. ‘ Sadly, Marie isn’t responding quite as well. As I said, everyone’s different, we all cope differently. ’

‘ She’s been committed to a secure psychiatric facility, hasn’t she? She’s on suicide watch. ’

‘ The human mind is a complicated animal, you can’t just… ’ He looks down, into his lap. Stills his hands. ‘ She’s getting the care she needs. As is Ruth Laughlin. ’

Cut to CCTV footage of a woman collapsing in a supermarket’s fruit-and-veg section, arms wrapped around her head, rocking back and forth while people steer their trolleys around her, not making eye contact.

Voice-over: ‘ Unable to cope with the nightmares and anxiety attacks following her abduction, Ruth Laughlin had a nervous breakdown in the Castleview Asda and is currently receiving treatment at the same facility as Marie. ’

And the Inside Man is still at large.

Not exactly an upbeat ending.

Welcome to the real world.

‘ … and that was Mister Bones with “Snow Loves A Winter”. You’re listening to Jane Forbes, holding the fort till Sensational Steve kicks off the Breakfast Drive-Time Bonanza at seven. Stick around for that, it’s going to be … awesome!’

I blinked at the ceiling. It wasn’t the right shape, the light was all wrong. Why the hell was…

A breath shuddered its way out of my chest and the thumping in my ears faded, slowed. Another breath.

Right. Not in a cell any more.

‘ We’ve got the news and weather coming up — spoiler alert, it’s going to be a wet one — but first here’s Halfhead, with their Christmas single “Sex, Violence, Lies, and Darkness” …’ The sound of distorted piano and mournful guitars oozed out of the radio alarm clock’s speakers.

The lead singer’s voice was like barbed wire dipped in molasses. ‘ Bones in the garden, they sing like an angel… ’

I rolled over and checked: quarter past six. What was the point of getting out of prison if you couldn’t even have a lie-in? Bloody Jacobson.

‘ The shadows are sharp and they burn deep inside… ’

Morning prayers at Force Headquarters. That was going to be fun. Perhaps I’d get lucky and not have to break anyone’s jaw…?

Keep it calm today. Nothing rash. No lashing out. Nothing that could get me sent back to prison before Mrs Kerrigan could meet with that unfortunate accident.

‘ Her body is cold, her voice hard and painful… ’

No hitting anyone. Eyes on the prize.

Come on, Ash. Up.

In a minute.

I spread out beneath the duvet, taking up the whole double bed. Just because I could.

‘ A knife-blade of bitterness, spite, and hurt pride… ’

Then the pressure in my bladder had to go and spoil everything. Groaning, I levered myself up, swung my legs out of bed, sighed. Rolled my right foot in small circles from the ankle. One way, then the other. Flexing the toes. Making little blades of hot iron grate along the bones — scraping away beneath the puckered knot of scar tissue the bullet left. A metaphor for my whole bloody life, right there.

‘ Sex, lies, and violence, a love filled with sharpness… ’

No point putting it off any longer. Up.

I limped over to the chest of drawers.

‘ Stoking the fires to stave off the darkness… ’

A brief search turned up a couple of big towels in the third drawer. I wrapped one around my waist, grabbed my cane, then unlocked the bedroom door as the song headed into an instrumental break. All minor chords and misery.

The sound of someone murdering an old Stereophonics tune rattled down the corridor, with a boiling kettle as backup. Shifty poked his head out of the living room and grinned at me. His eyes were all shiny and bright, despite the fact he’d put away enough champagne and whisky last night to fill a bathtub. He’d even shaved. ‘Hope you’re hungry, we’ve got enough here to feed a family of six. Breakfast on the table in five, whether you’re there or not.’ And then he was gone again.

‘Morning, Shifty.’ I tried the bathroom door handle. Locked.

Alice’s voice came from inside, the words all muffled and rounded as if she had her mouth full. ‘Hold on…’ Then some spitting and a running tap. The bathroom door opened and there she was, wearing a fluffy bathrobe, a towel wrapped around her head. A cloud of orange-scented steam billowed out behind her. ‘Are you not dressed yet, only we’ve got the morning briefing at seven and it’s-’

‘What happened to the hangover?’

‘Coffee. Coffee’s great it really is and it’s just, like, pow first thing in the morning and I think I got up in the middle of the night to drink some water, I was having the strangest dream and I was in a car crash and there was a dog and I’m chasing someone into the train station only it turned into a rock concert and there was a woman in a blue tracksuit and everyone was all sweaty, isn’t that weird?’ She squeezed past, and opened the door to her room. Froze on the threshold. A crease formed between her eyebrows. ‘Maybe it was the pizza, probably shouldn’t eat a quattro formaggio that close to bedtime, only it wasn’t really bedtime was it, it was a slightly late dinner, and I like cheese, don’t you, it’s-’

‘OK.’ I held up a hand. ‘No more coffee for you.’

‘But I like coffee, it’s the best, and Dave brought this little metal teapot thing with him that you put on the cooker and coffee goes in one end and water in the bottom and you get great espresso-’